


Yuletide Ardor

by FeaofAnor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: But Elrond's here to help, But Legolas is a good son, But Lindir's not really good at Ice Skating, Christmas Fluff, Clumsy!Lindir, First Kiss, M/M, More Fluff, Most of the time, Neither is Thranduil, These two are just too Fluffy, Yule
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:40:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeaofAnor/pseuds/FeaofAnor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirwood's rulers are coming to Imladris this year to celebrate Yule, and Lindir's been assigned with the task of preparing the Valley for the annual Yule Dance. But of course, Elrond's always here to help. And who knows? Maybe he'll discover a few things when he asks the shy minstrel for a dance.</p><p>And who knew Elrond was such a good Ice Skater? But Lindir on the other hand... is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sitting unaccompanied in his chambers, Lindir watched thoughtfully as the snow outside drifted slowly to the ground, leaving a soft white blanket in it's wake. The Bruinen was veiled with a lustrous layer of ice, and the frigid and windy air left even the most stoic elves feeling chilled.

The small fire in the corner cast a soft glow, but did little to warm the room, so Lindir gripped a blanket tightly around his frame. He reluctantly removed his eyes from the austere night sky back down to his desk, where numerous papers were left unfinished. He faintly sighed before picking up his quill pen and began to write, but only managed to finish a couple of words before he heard a soft knock at the door. 

“Lindir? Are you awake?” Came that secretly cherished, docile voice from outside of the minstrel's chamber doors.

Lindir looked up from his desk, slightly startled to hear his Lord's call. 'Why would he be here so late?' thought the elf. Being a peredhel, Elrond required more sleep than most other elves, and his exhausted tone made it apparent he hadn't had any in a while. 

“Aye, My Lord. You may come in if you'd like.” Lindir said, accidentally letting some of his own drowsiness seep into his tone. 

The intricately carved door opened slowly, and Elrond walked in. He was dressed in beautiful long gray flowing robes, with very tousled hair, and lacked his usual circlet adorning his brow. Elrond frowned peculiarly at the sight of Lindir still working, even though his shift had been up for hours. But making no comment except a slightly distressed sigh, Elrond silently paced the room until he reached his assistant, taking notice that Lindir was now completely bundled up in an array of furry blankets and shivering lightly. Elrond placed a gentle hand on Lindir's covered shoulder, and squeezed it with fondness. 

“Lindir, may I ask you a question?” Asked the Lord solemnly, with a sad smile tugging at corner of his lips.

“Of course.” Lindir said hesitantly, observing the melancholy look on Elrond's face. 

After a long moment of dismal silence, the older elf finally spoke with a soothing tone. “Will you be attending the Yule dance tomorrow evening?”

Reprieve flooded through Lindir as he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Thinking for a moment, Lindir gently shook his head. “No, I do not believe I will.” Lindir had been appointed to plan out the celebration in the first place. Elrond trusted none other. He made sure it was to be a party of eminent splendor, for the Elves of Mirkwood were coming to spend this year's Yule in Imladris. “And why not?” Asked Elrond, his lowered voiced laced with irritation as he raised his eyebrows in an apprehensive manner. “I will be too busy working and filling out papers. Nevertheless, I thought the party was only for important staff?” Lindir said dismally, looking back down at the large pile of stacked scrolls and books splayed out on his wooden desk. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Demanded Elrond, with a bit more anger than he had intended. He moved his hand from Lindir's shoulder, placing it delicately on the younger elf's cheek when Lindir winced at his harsh tone. Tilting Lindir's head so could look him properly in the eyes, Elrond prompted the elf to give an explanation.

Lindir blushed furiously at the warm contact, and began to mumble incoherently. “Well... Um... I- I thought that... You know, with Thranduil being there... Y-you only wanted...” Elrond sighed, shaking his head and removing his hand.

“Lindir, I would be utterly delighted to see you there. Now, I won't make this an order. But I do want you to know that it would bring my heart great joy if you are to attend.” Elrond smiled, as he bent down to tuck the blanket snugly around Lindir, and walked over to the fire, adding more wood until it was burning brightly. He gave Lindir an encouraging smile before walking out of the room, taking a few stacks of Lindir's paper and a pen with him.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The next morning, Lindir was at the gate standing alongside Glorfindel, Erestor, and Elrond as they greeted the incoming party from Mirkwood. The snow continued to fall, much to the fascination of the newcomers, including Thranduil's son, Legolas. 

“Welcome, mellon-nin.” Smiled Elrond graciously as he pulled Thranduil in for a welcoming hug. “It had been too long since our last meeting.”

“Aye, it has. How have you been?” Thranduil spoke with an uncommon warmth and fondness, as he accepted the hug.

“I have been well. Imladris is holding up better than expected after Celebrian's departure.” Replied Elrond, with a pained smile. Thranduil's expression suddenly became sympathetic, as he placed a hand on the shorter elf's shoulder and nodded softly. “I am glad.”

Turning his attention to Lindir, King Thranduil placed a hand over his heart in greeting, as Lindir bowed respectfully. 

“Lindir, would you mind showing Thranduil and Legolas around?” Asked Erestor, as he and Glorfindel bid their respects as well.

Gasping at the sight of the frozen Bruinen, the blonde prince couldn't resist the urge to touch the icy surface, as he cautiously walked upon it's slippery covering. Not expecting the lack of friction, Legolas laughed as he slid. But as soon as he somewhat gained his footing, the prince held his hand out towards his father.

“Ada? Care to join me?” He asked lovingly, looking into his father's skeptical eyes. “It will be fun.” 

“Legolas, no. We don't have time for this.” Thranduil said impassively. But Legolas, being as stubborn as his father, refused to give up.

Struggling to walk on the glassy surface, Thranduil clutched on to his shorter son to keep himself from falling. But loosing his grip, Thranduil's thin and lanky body pooled against the ice in a mass of limbs, as his expression became annoyed. His blonde hair fell in font of his face, temporarily blinding the King.

Suddenly appearing next to a very mirthful Elrond and Lindir, Elrond's twin sons stood proudly with slight smirks tracing their lips.

“We thought you could use these.” The brothers laughed at the same time, as they held up many pairs of beautifully crafted white ice skates. Gratefully taking two pairs of skates, Thranduil placed a pair on Legolas' feet, as well as his own before once more attempting to skate.

In the meantime, Elladan, Elrohir, and Elrond all laced up their own skates, and prepared to walk on the ice. Being nigh experts at the sport, Elladan and Elrohir made a valiant effort to show the Mirkwood elves how to execute the Imladrin pastime, but it proved overall futile. On the other hand, Elrond skated by himself, occasionally peering over to Lindir who watched contently as he sat in the snow, with Elrond's borrowed cape draped around his shoulders. 

As he watched the young minstrel sit alone, a strange feeling washed over Elrond. It was a feeling he couldn't quite explain, but he choose to ignore it. Even so, he continued to watch the elf trace patterns into the snow. He gave in to his own adulation as he slid over to Lindir, and held out his hands pleadingly in a similar fashion to that of Legolas.

Blushing softly, Lindir, shook his head no, and quietly mumbled “I'd rather not...I'm terribly clumsy.” It was true: Lindir was very prone to accidents. This was made clear numerous times, but the one that stuck in his mind the most prominently was the time he spilled wine on Elrond's wedding robes. He refused to come out of his rooms for almost two weeks after that incident. 

“Nonsense!” Gasped Elrond, as he sat down beside Lindir. Not waiting for permission. Elrond took off the minstrel's boots, replacing them with skates. “Skate with me, Lindir.” Elrond said reassuringly, as he grabbed Lindir and pulled him onto the Bruinen. 

“I've never done this before.” Said Lindir with obvious trepidation as he desperately grabbed on to his Lord's arm.

“It's okay. I won't let you fall.” Those words brought an elated smile to Lindir's face; a smile Elrond had never before seen. He looked into Lindir's eyes, as he tucked a strand of brunette hair behind the minstrel's pointed ear. They laced hands, and Lindir allowed himself to be led by his Lord as the glided slowly across the frozen river. As expected, Lindir clung on cautiously, nearly cutting off the circulation to Elrond's arm. 

By now, Elladan and Elrohir were skating together with their own arms hooked, mimicking the posture of Thranduil and Legolas as they smiled blissfully. Erestor and Glorfindel had also decided to join the array of elves, as they battled over dominance for best skater by showing off complicated jumps and spins. (Erestor won.) 

After a while, Lindir was finally able to skate without too much of Elrond's assistance. Even so, the elf Lord decided to stay at his assistant’s side. The whole time, Lindir couldn't help but notice the jubilant, perhaps even youthful look on Elrond's face.

But eventually, when everyone started to feel weary, the group (with the exception of Glorfindel and Erestor) retreated inside of Imladris' halls and sat in front of a large fire, sipping tea. No one spoke, for everyone was lost in their own thoughts. Elladan rested his head on Elrohir's shoulder, as Legolas curled up with his father. Lindir found comfort with his back pressed against his Lord's chest, relishing the intimate feeling as the fire crackled softly. 

This was indeed not the first time Lindir had found himself wrapped in Elrond's arms. It had happened just over 500 years ago. Elrond had fallen terribly ill. It was something unheard of in elves, but not half-elves. With Imladris' best healer in need of healing, Lindir took on the role of caretaker. It was perhaps the most terrifying thing Lindir had ever remembered; Elrond sweating terribly, his face flushed, and panting like an injured mare. Lindir had done everything he knew of to cool down the feverish elf, but nothing seemed to work. At least, until Elrond had commented on how cold Lindir's hands were. So the next thing he knew, Lindir was shirtless with Elrond's sweltering body wrapped around his. Much to both of their relief, Elrond was completely fine the next morning. 

The fond memories lulled Lindir into a half-asleep state, before Elrond whispered in Lindir's ear, careful not to startle him.

“Lindir? We should get up. The Yule dance starts in a few hours.” Reluctantly, Lindir nodded, and began to stand up. 

“If you need anything to wear, do not hesitate to ask.” Said Elrond as he helped Lindir to his feet.

“Thank you my Lord. But I think I can find something suitable enough.” Lindir stated, feeling surprised at the unexpected offer. 

“As you wish.” Said Elrond, as he cupped Lindir's pale hand in his own and lifted it up to his mouth “I will see you later, my dear Lindir.” He said, as he brushed his lips across Lindir's soft knuckles.


	2. Chapter 2

Searching frantically through his belongings, Lindir let out a frustrated sigh when he was unable to find anything remotely worthy of presenting himself in front of his Lord, determined to make some sort of impression. By now, his chambers was in complete disarray. Robes and cloaks were abandoned in large, discarded heaps. Presently, Lindir himself was buried inside of his closet as he soon realized that his relentless pursuit was pointless. He had never been one to focus on vanity, or wear the beautifully lavish and intricate robes that Elrond seems to sport perfectly, even when prompted by Glorfindel and Erestor, as they tried convincing him that the Valar had given him the gift of beauty. But even as his search proved fruitless, he continued looking. 

Yes, his lord was perfect in Lindir's eyes. The son of Earendil the Mariner certainly lives up to his heritage, for his bravery and wisdom was renowned among Man and Elves. His eyes were reflections of his father's, but his long, dark hair was a gift taken from his mother, Elwing. His stature was tall for an elf, but was slightly more muscular due to the small amount of human blood running through his veins. Lindir knew much about the elf, such as the fact that he preferred the use of his sword Hadhafang, over his bow. He also knew that Elrond had a soft spot for black horses, and that has favorite drink was Miruvor., and the value of Elrond's counsel was known to all. But even with his unsurpassed beauty and knowledge, Lindir held the kindness bestowed by his Lord as his favorite aspect, for he was perilous in battle to all that imposed him, yet terribly affectionate to those he considers his friends. 

Lost in his thoughts and focusing solely on his search, Lindir missed the soft knock at his door. Unknown to the Minstrel, the door creaked open, and in walked the King of Mirkwood himself, ready for the celebration. He was dressed in a long silver gown complete with a long green sash decorated with the emblem of his kingdom, and his hair flowed down his shoulders unhindered. With a raised eyebrow, Thranduil appraised the sight of scattered fabrics across the room, tossed uncaring onto furniture, and even hanging from the bedpost. He then took notice of strange noises being emitted from the closet, as disgruntled and angry mumbles gave way to elvish curses. He approached with peculiar curiosity, taking care to remain silent as he walked towards his intended target with an almost feline elegance. But he was caught completely off guard when a large red cloak smacked him forcefully in the face, and he felled ungraciously onto the floor, finding his limbs entangled in the cloth, and with a surprised yelp, his hair tumbling forward in front of his face. 

Hearing the distressed sound, Lindir crawled out of the closet, only to be met with the sight of a very unanticipated elvenking, covered with the cloak he had just tossed out after deeming it too boring. 

“Well, I did knock.” Shrugged the King, as he shook the cloak off of him, joining the others on the floor with an impassiveness unfitting of the King's reputation.

“My Lord Thranduil, I am so sorry. I n-never even noticed you!” Lindir gasped clasping his hand over his mouth in horror, a deep, furious blush mottling over his cheeks. He stumbled to his feet, sprinting clumsily over to the King as he tried maneuvering himself over the mounds of garments, as the King remained on the ground. Quickly standing next to the King, Lindir bashfully extended his hand, helping the elf to his feet.

“It's quite alright.” Thranduil chuckled, as Lindir looked away, hiding his flushed face behind his cascade of brunette hair. Placing his hand on the younger elf's shoulder, the king continued. “But I must ask, what ever are you doing? It looks like a pack of Balrogs just stormed through your room.” 

“I-I... was looking. For something.” Lindir mumbled, his eyes scanning the floor for nothing specific.

“Something?” Asked the King, tilting his blonde head to the side in question as his hair fell back into place “You should specify.” A knowing smile crossed Thranduil's lips as he took in the unkempt look of the minstrel, and the garments piled beside the mirror, as well as the forgotten gold robe thrown roughly onto the Minstrel's slight frame, and the rapid breathing of his chest.

But when the blushing elf remained quiet, the King's smile turned sympathetic. “If you need something to wear, just ask. I am willing to share.”

At that, Lindir's eyes shot up, and filled instantly with something akin to hope. He made no sound, but the minstrel nodded softly. The King was offering him clothes? The idea flustered the younger elf, but he found no reason to protest. Clothing fit for a king should surely impress Elrond, right? 

“Well, come on then.” Said the King, motioning towards the door. Together, the two elves walked down the Imladrin halls, until they reached Thanduil's temporary rooms. “I didn't bring much with me, but I'm never without extra robes. So I think I can find you can find something.”

“I thank you, from the depths of my heat, My King.” Lindir smiled, as they entered the room, and Thranduil brought his attention towards a large chest positioned near the bed. 

“Make yourself comfortable. I believe I have just the thing.” Nodded the King, accepting Lindir's gratefulness. “But first...” Mumbled the King, before he walked over to a small table, covered in a wine pitcher and several crafted glasses. He poured a glass for Lindir, placing it in the elf's slightly shaky hands.

“Drink it. It's my own favorite. It should help calm your nerves. But trust me, Dorwinion is potent stuff.” Smiled Tranduil, quickly swallowing a glass of his own.

Perching himself on the end of the bed, Lindir watched peculiarly at the King, as he sifted through the beautifully adorned chest, while sipping at the wine until it was empty, discarding the glass beside him. After a few minutes, the King held up an utterly stunning light blue robe.

“Here, try this.” Thanduil said, as a triumphant smile crossed his lips. Lindir's eyes widened as he ran his fingers over the delicate material, covered in gems and shimmering radiantly in the dim lights cast by the fire. The raiment was surely elvish, but it wasn't anything Lindir had ever seen before. 

Lindir quickly put on the robe, watching with astonishment as it conformed almost perfectly to his body. Long, lacy sleeves draped towards the ground ending near his waist. The material followed his every movement, trailing behind him only slightly. The collar was decorated with small emeralds, and the design of a star was etched carefully into the fabric. With tears brimming in his eyes. Lindir turned towards Thranduil, who mirrored his look of amazement, an almost sad look hidden deep within his expression.

Suddenly, a confused look swept of Lindir's face, as he looked at the towering king above him. “My Lord Thranduil... This robe... Is it your sons? Surely it doesn't fit you.” He said, looking at the length of the gown comped to the King's stature. 

“No. It is in my posession, but it's not mine. I've never worn it. I'm far too tall.” Said the King, as he pulled lightly at his own apparel, smiling at his own obvious statement. 

“If I may ask, who does it belong to?” Lindir asked softly, as he continued to appraise the ensemble with fascination. 

“It once belonged to another Elvenking. A very dear friend of mine.” Surveying the look on the minstrel’s face prompting him to continue, the King did just that. “He was born during the first age, and established Lindon, later forging an alliance with the Men of Westernesse, and became very close to Elrond and I. His death was tragic, and he became the last of the High Kings of the Noldor, dying by the hand of Sauron himself upon the slopes of Orodruin. ”

“Erenion Gil-Galad...” Whispered Lindir, looking at his reflection in the mirror with shock. Thranduil nodded his head in reply, a look of remembrance forming on his generally placid and stoic features, as Lindir sighed and continued .“I knew him... He stayed in Imladris after forming the Last Alliance. He taught me how to play the harp, and how to shoot a bow... He was the closest thing to a father I ever had.” Lindir remembered back to the moment when he learned of Erenion's death. It was horrid; the look of pity and sorrow Elrond showed when he gave the elf the terrible news. It had cast Lindir into depression, guilt gnawing at him constantly for decades to come. He blamed himself, unable to be there and help his King when he needed him. For at the time, he was still young, and was just learning the basics of self defense, so he was ordered to remain in Rivendell. But even with this burden Lindir carried, Elrond was there to pull him out, and assured the Minstrel that it was no fault of his own.

With understanding, Thranduil nodded, as tears welled up in Lindir's eyes, as he gently felt the material of the robe, examining it's unique texture, looking at it with devastating fondness, lost in memories of both happier and sadder times. Hesitantly, as an idea pensively crossed his mind, Lindir brought the fabric up to his nose, and timidly smelled it. He gasped, and looked up at Thranduil when he recognized the unforgettable scent of Gil-Galad, which he experienced every time the King would clasp the young elf in a hug. He always did have a particular interest in lavender, and the fragrance which still clung to the attire showed that. 

“You seem very attached to him.” Said Thranduil warmly, smiling at Lindir's reaction as he nodded almost childishly. “Then for my Yuletide gift, I will give this to you. Keep it, as a reminder of him.”

Frozen to the spot, Lindir found himself barely able to speak. “I-I...can never thank you enough, My King... You have done so much for me already...” Lindir whispered, as his gestured towards the robe, unbelieving tears finally falling from his eyes. “But tell me... why are you helping me? Find something to wear I mean...” 

A tiny smile played across Thranduil's lips, as he turned his gaze towards the small fire, and watched dark shadows dance placidly upon the walls, and across the two elves. “That, Lindir, is a very easy question. Lord Elrond has been lonely for far too long...” 

Before Lindir could question him further, the door to the chambers opened, and in walked Prince Legolas, dressed in a light green gown, and a small diamond crown adorning his brow. Following in suit behind him with perfect unison, Elladan and Elrohir dressed in matching red cloaks approached as well. “Ada I-...” The Prince started, before his gaze passed over the tearful minstrel, and a look of wonder passed over the young prince's face. “Lindir? You look... I can't... You look amazing!” Exclaimed the Prince, grinning brightly. Suddenly, both Elladan and Elrohir's eyes lit up as well, initially not recognizing the beautifully clad elf. 

Unacquainted to having the attention of four elves directed at him, Lindir hid his face in his hands, and used his disheveled hair as cover. Chuckling softly, Thranduil walked over and gently brushed his fingers through Lindir's locks, seeing the tangled waves, which were resulted from his earlier search, and felt the texture of the strands between his thumb and forefinger with slight disapproval “Well, we can't have everyone focusing on your gown, now can we? What do guys think, want to help me fix his hair?” 

Elladan and Elrohir nodded simultaneously as Legolas smiled approvingly, and Lindir paled from increasing embarrassment, for he was soon surrounded by four elves armed with brushes, and sighed when they placed him in front of the mirror and began their work, raking through his hair, earning small squeaks from the minstrel, who often protested every time anyone would touch his hair. But for the sake of his friends, he endured the treatment with only slight annoyance. 

“This... might take a while.” Sighed Legolas, as yet another sense of dread washed over Lindir, and a rough yank to his scalp.

Half an hour later, after dealing with fighting elves, more pulled hair, and no small degree of hair pins, Lindir stood in front of some exceptionally proud elves, as they assessed their doings.

“You look-” Began Elladan.

“Stunning...” Said Elrohir, finishing his brother's shared thought, as Thranduil smirked with satisfaction. 

Deciding to check for himself, unconvinced that his plain facade could ever be considered 'stunning', Lindir gasped as he looked at his reflection. His hair fell around his shoulders in riveting cascaded of curls. Tiny diamonds were intricately weaved through, and a silver circlet encrusted with numerous blue jewels was placed upon his brow. Barely recognizing himself, for the elf in the mirror was in no small amount utterly and completely stunning... perhaps even worthy of Elrond. The thougt made his stomach clench, as his thoughts accidentally reminded of Celebrian's beauty. The two of them were close friends, and Lindir was left devastated when she left, but guilt consumed him whenever he admitted to himself he was in the slightest bit relieved. For the longest time, Lindir believed he could never replace Celebrian, the angelic daughter of Celeborn and Galadirel. Her hair was blond and curly, while Lindir's was brunette and straight. Her eyes were an austere blue, while his were brown. It was simple; She was gorgeous, he was nothing. Banishing such thoughts from his mind, Lindir looked at the faces of the friends surrounding him, and told himself that he was, in fact, loved deeply by many, Elrond included. 

“Thank you... All of you.” He whispered softly, and gave a lasting hug to each of the elves. “I don't know what I would do without you.” 

Placing a strong, manicured hand on the Minstrel's shorter shoulder, Thranduil spoke gently, with a strange glint in his eyes as he exchanged glances with the 3 other elves standing nearby. “Lindir, it's our pleasure. But...You just have to promise one thing in return.”

“Anything!” Whimpered the elf, brushing a wayward curl from his face.

“You must dance with Lord Elrond before the night's end.”


End file.
